A Christmas Carol in Storybrooke
by Anonymous Nerd Girl
Summary: I don't consider this a crossover, because formatting a television show to fit into A Christmas Carol is one of the oldest tricks in the book. Bet you'll never guess who I made the Scrooge... Please review! As of Chapter 3 we have officially entered Rumbelle territory!
1. Chapter 1

Belle was dead, to begin with. And Baelfire was long gone. Optimism was never a trait that Rumplestiltskin aspired to- in this world or in a place best known as elsewhere. In this place, where he was called Mr. Gold, pessimism was an art-form that he had perfected for himself and that he earnestly tried to inspire in others. He was a tight-fisted hand to the grind-stone. Scheming, secretive, and solitary as an oyster.

To the citizens of Storybrooke, he was best known for his menacing cane- which actually detracted from his noticeable limp. He was also known for his intolerance when it came to lateness in paying rent. He didn't care if his tenants were thriving or floundering in their own business endeavors. He expected debts owed to him to be paid on time. Lateness was met with a certain hardness from Gold. Sometimes defaulters had to face eviction or some other tragic consequence, but more often than not Gold found there were deals to be made.

For nearly three decades Gold engaged in his little dance with the good people of Storybrooke. The wheel had spun neatly in place for twenty-eight years, but thanks to the appearance of Miss Emma Swan, time once again had meaning. Things were moving forward. To the Dark One, Emma's arrival meant many things. It first triggered the return of his memories, giving him the knowledge that his carefully laid plans were coming to fruition. Unfortunately for Gold, cognition and memory- like any magic- came with a price. Guilt, loneliness, and worst of all- the phantom whispers of what might have been.

0

Once upon a time- of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve - Mr. Gold sat expectantly in his pawn shop. Like any other winter in Maine, the weather was cold, bleak, and biting. The town of Storybrooke, however, looked as if it had been plucked from an Irving Berlin song. The snow and cold were as harsh and abrasive as the heart of any loveless villain, but the streets and shops were decorated in perfect traditional yet non-denominational holiday taste. Every detail from the frigid air to the white fairy lights screamed Regina's name, decorative and potentially fatal. Rumplestiltskin was probably the only person in town who could appreciate this irony. Anyone else would credit the holiday trappings to one of the more popular deities in this mundane land- Martha Stewart.

The view did nothing to improve Mr. Gold's mood, which had dipped from somber to melancholy. If he were the type of man to indulge in emotional impulses he would draw the blinds, close up shop, and lose himself in a bottle of whiskey from his fictional homeland. Rumplestiltskin was not a Scot, but Mr. Gold did have several of the proclivities associated with the nationality. The accent, the taste for rich smoky liquor, and the innate sense of pragmatism. It was Mr. Gold's thrifty pragmatic nature that kept the pawnshop open late on Christmas Eve. Well, that and Rumplestiltskin's ability to sniff out a desperate soul.

Business that December 24th wasn't booming- a pawn broker's business was very rarely booming- but it was steady. Since the advent of Emma's return people felt themselves occasionally drawn to the shop. It gave Mr. Gold an impish rush of amusement to sell the princes and princesses their own love tokens from the old world. He was sorely tempted to demand that cocky young Eric Dane trade his pocket watch for the mother-of-pearl hair combs he had in mind for his red-haired wife. Mr. Gold probably would have went through with it if he wouldn't have looked like a raving lunatic demanding for Arianna to exchange her ginger locks for a 24-carat fob-chain. Those were games for another place...

He did enjoy the terrified look Archie Hopper née Jiminy Cricket gave as The Dark One rebuked his invitation to Granny's Christmas party. The incident started out innocuously enough with the do-gooder requesting Gold to make a last-minute donation to some bleeding heart charity.

"Is it tax-deductible, Dr. Hopper?"

"Why, yes it is, Mr. Gold. And it's for the orphans."

The former cricket made his mistake while his landlord was writing out the cheque. "Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Gold." His awestruck tone betrayed the shock it would have been impolite to declare with his actual words.

"Well, it's not like I'm made of wood, after all." Gold's sardonic reply conveyed an unspoken message too. You've been brave enough insect. Time to leave.

Archie, unfortunately, was too wrapped up in his conscience to recognize the potential for danger. He knew how rough the holidays were for people living on their own. And he doubted he would ever meet anyone as lonely as the miser standing before him. No wife, no children, definitely no friends. The psychiatrist in Archie reasoned, rightly, that Mr. Gold pushed everyone away due to a deep-seated fear of rejection. The best way to alleviate fears of that nature was to make friendly overtures. And what better time than the holidays to extend an olive branch? Or bough of holly, as it were.

"Mr. Gold. Ah-" Archie drew in a deep breath, "I know you have your differences with some people in town. Well most of the people in town, but that's not the point. It's Christmas and I know that you would be more than welcome at Granny's party. There's nothing like a little get together to-"

"Dr. Hopper, you would do better to save your charitable instincts for the orphans. It's my honest opinion that all of this holiday nonsense is just a commercialized waste of time and resources. The electricity wasted on all of the God awful lighting alone could power a third-world country for a month." Gold's lip curled in disapproval. "As for all this rubbish about peace and goodwill, well that's just a fairy tale, isn't it? Now, I want you to leave my premises before I add the amount of my donation to your next months rent."

Cheque in trembling hand Archie left the pawn shop in something of a daze. Rumplestiltskin, for his part, was all but spitting nails. Which was perhaps why his last deal of the night, with Henry Mills of all people, brought him to his most towering height of misanthropy in all his long centuries.

0

Henry entered Mr. Gold's shop without fear, piggy bank in hand. He had already purchased his yearly gift certificate for the Mayor. At the age of five he learned that his adopted mother preferred to choose her own gift rather than be surprised by the questionable taste of a minor. But this year Henry had another mother to think of: Emma. Henry wanted the first gift he bought for the woman who gave birth to him to be magical. Literally magical.

Henry was one of the three people in Storybrooke to know that Emma was destined to be the town's Savior. Henry had to be certain that his gift to Emma would help her believe in the curse and believe in herself. Henry wasn't quite sure of Mr. Gold's true identity, but he suspected that the man knew more about the real situation in Storybrooke than he let on. He also knew the pawnshop was stocked entirely with treasures from the other world.

"Hello, Henry. And just what are we looking for today?"

"Hi, Mr. Gold. Merry Christmas. I'm looking for a present."

"Well then who are we buying for? Dr. Hopper? Or perhaps Ms. Blanchard, from school?"

"Actually, Mr. Gold, I want to find a present for Emma. Maybe something to remind her... you know... How special she is. To me." The subtext in Henry's little speech was more subtle than in the good doctor's, but Gold picked up on it with much more ease and much less venom. Henry was fishing to see if Mr. Gold knew about the curse and if he had anything that could help convince Emma to break it. The lad was clever, like another he once knew.

Mr. Gold pondered over Henry's query with just the right amount of sincerity and panache. He was every inch the clever antiques dealer the world believed him to be. After a moment of reflection and scanning of shelves he retreated to his back room with an exclamation of having "just the right thing."

Henry's eyes lit up when Mr. Gold returned, locket in hand. It was truly a thing of beauty; he had crafted it just before he allowed himself to be arrested by Prince Sean and family. The golden chain had been spun using straw and his own magic spinning wheel. The locket itself contained a charm that he had meant to fall into the hands of Snow and Charming before the baby had been born. At the time he thought of it as a little extra insurance. Circumstances prevented him from bestowing the gift on the baby Savior, but fate had a way of circling back around. And this time he had the opportunity to reap some type of reward.

Had it not been for his confrontation with the cricket he might have taken Henry's paltry savings or even a favor to be named at a later date. But there was a certain darkness sitting on his shoulder. A need to take something just so someone else wouldn't have it.

He watched as Henry examined the locket with awe; Gold's eyes were dark, calculating. When he saw Henry's awe turn to curiosity - a change that would surely lead to questions - Gold schooled his face into an expression of embarrassed, apologetic regret.

"Henry, I wish I hadn't brought this item out," he said. The boy's head snapped up to stare at him. "There's no way you could be able to afford it. Let's crack open your little bank there and see what a reasonable price range would be for you." Gold was willing to bet the boy had earned his Grandfather Charming's stubborn streak; Henry clamped his hands over Gold's just as the man was moving the locket away.

"It's too perfect, Mr. Gold," said Henry, "I know I can find a way to pay you. I have almost fifty dollars in my bank and I could give you my allowance every week until we're even."

"Aren't you a little young to be going into debt, young man? I have enough adults on my hands bellyaching about their mortgage without adding you to the list. And I don't suppose you could go to Regina for the extra money- given the circumstances. Why don't we put this away and I could show you some of these lovely vintage snow glo-"

Henry cut him off. "Mr. Gold, I know you wouldn't have shown me that locket if you didn't have a deal in mind. I'll do anything. Anything. But I have to get that locket for my Mom- I mean Emma."

There was a long, silent pause. Henry's eyes were shining with determination; he was uncertain about Gold's response, but he wasn't backing down. Gold let him stew, let him get nervous, before finally breaking his blank mask to speak.

"Henry, I like your determination, but I don't think you have anything I could possibly want," he said. "Why don't you run along and make Emma a set of plaster handprints or something like that."

"I could work in your shop after school," said Henry. He leaned forward on the counter, desperate. "Do you need me to do a recon mission in City Hall?" That one actually tempted Rumplestiltskin, but he had something else in mind.

"I'll make you a deal, Henry. Forty dollars cash and that book you're always carrying around." Mr. Gold expected the ten year old to protest or put up a struggle. Instead the boy hesitated for only a moment before placing the volume on the counter.

"Mr. Gold, this book is very important to me and I could never sell it," he said earnestly. "But, I've seen shows on TV where people give their stuff to pawnshops with the possibility of getting it back."

Such a smart boy, Rumplestiltskin thought. He would have gladly struck the deal if his day hadn't been ruined with that insipid bug and his stupid pitying invitation. "That's not how I operate my business Henry. This locket is a valuable antique and that book is a rare first-edition, if not a unique original. Both are too valuable to be traded around like bubble gum cards. I know that you're trying to do something really special for Emma, but I'm not going to go back on my terms."

The boy looked as close to tears as he had ever seen him, but his voice and hand were steady as he shook hands to seal the deal. Rumplestiltskin, for his part, kept up his business-like facade although his insides were twitching with maniacal mirth. It reminded him of the days when he could bring an emperor to his knees, all the while negotiating for fabric visible only to the eyes of the wise.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Gold's car ride home would have been largely unnecessary had it not been for the plunging temperature and his ruined knee. In fair weather, Gold walked wherever he needed to go. Walking was cheap; it served as exercise, and let everyone know he was stronger than his disability. He considered and rejected the idea of passing the holiday at his cabin, away from humanity. In spite of his more normal appearance, he hadn't forgotten that he had been outside the realm of human companionship for centuries. Except for that short time, that brief flicker... Rumplestiltskin knew it was better to ignore that type of thinking. He would be spending this Christmas like every other- holed up in his pink house with a bottle of Scotch and a chipped cup.

Still, he couldn't justify going to the trouble of warming up the car for what amounted to a two-minute drive. Instead of hiding from humanity, he would observe it at 40 mph. The streets were predictably bare, given the late hour and bad weather, but it seemed every car in Storybrooke was crammed into the parking lot at Granny's. Not for the first time he kicked himself for not making it a pay-to-park lot. It seemed that all the local yokels were settling in for an evening of holiday cheer.

Through the diner's window he could see Mary Margret Blanchard and Emma Swan laughing with Ashley Boyd, baby girl in tow. His foray into playing the part of fairy godmother would have proved quite the trying experience, had he not used the situation to orchestrate his own capture. He never really wanted Cinderella's baby, and was beyond thrilled that the transaction left him with a less problematic prize- a favor from Emma. Rumplestiltskin slowed his Cadillac ever so slightly so he could take in the scene; the princesses were being joined by the lycanthrope-turned-waitress, Ruby. The girl's hemline was so short he wondered why she didn't just spritz herself with au de desperation and top herself with a Christmas bow. Dr. Hopper would probably enjoy the view; the cricket was obviously staring at Red from across the room.

Gold tended to avoid the diner unless he was collecting rent or he wanted to intimidate someone over their coffee and pie. One time, years before Emma came into town he overheard Ruby call him Scrooge McDuck. Nicknames like that were hard to live down, so he limited his dealings with the Lucas women. After he raised their rent.

The sight of his house neither cheered nor depressed Gold. His front door was just another obstacle on his way to oblivion. There was no wreath on his door and his knocker had not taken on the appearance of Jacob Marley- although he might have been a more welcome sight than the specter Rumplestiltskin would be facing about an hour later.

0

Mr. Gold did not consider himself to be that deep in his cups, Scottish or not, men with his accent rarely admitted to being drunk. He had only made his way through a couple of drinks when he caught sight of the only face that could make him illicit any sign of fear.

"Greetings, Dark One."

Rumplestiltskin paled and dropped his decanter; he thanked the powers that be that he wasn't holding his tea cup and tried to get a grip in his panic. Summoning all the indifference he could muster, he replied, "And greetings to you, Zoso. To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you here to tell me I've been a very wicked man?"

His voice trembled slightly at the end, and the apparition smiled; the smile of a kindly beggar looking to repay the hospitality of his humble host. The familiarity of it turned Gold's stomach. "Oh no, Rumplestiltskin," Zoso said. "I've come to congratulate you."

A shiver snaked its way up Mr. Gold's spine. "You did that after I ran the cursed dagger through your heart. It's not every day that a person sees the ghost of a former Dark Power sitting in their parlor. I'm not drunk or hallucinating, so I'll ask again. To what do I owe the pleasure, Zoso?"

Still smiling, the old man stood. Death had been much kinder than the life of an enslaved Dark One. "Like I said, Rumplestiltskin, I wish to congratulate you. You've maintained your independent will much longer than any other Dark One. Certainly much longer than I held on to my own. But, I've also come to warn you. You're about to lose it."

This time he didn't bother trying to appear nonchalant. His words were shaky, furious, and his attempt to stay quiet and calm only lasted a few sparse seconds. "You think so, dearie? I'm inclined to disagree. I am winning. I had to tear the whole world apart, BUT I AM WINNING!" His breath was coming hard, face red with anger. "I've humbugged them all! I wrote the curse, I found someone to cast it, and I have someone poised to break the curse so I won't be bound by its limitations. I will find my son and no long-dead penny magician is going to tell me otherwise!" He had gone way too far to lose. His rant ended with silence, just his harsh breaths in the middle of the room. Zoso's figure was an un-smiling shadow in the dark.

"You don't have to tell me this is all about your son, Rumplestiltskin," he said. "I was there. Helping you save him was the only good deed I ever did after I came into my Power."

"Good deed, was it? Your intervention ruined my life."

"Yes, but you can't deny that it saved Baelfire's."

"Don't say his name. You don't get to say his name. You evil-"

"I'm dead Rumple. I'm no longer a force of anything- evil or benign. But, I'm here to warn you. You made a mistake tonight. One that will lead to your undoing."

"And what was that? Yelling at the cricket or taking candy from the baby?"

"You took something irreplaceable from that boy tonight, but you've done worse to yourself. The way I see it, the way things are going right now, even if you win you're going to lose."

"Do you care to elaborate on that?"

"Actually, I don't. My time with you is limited and I'm not qualified to tell you everything you need to hear. You will be visited by three others; listen to them. You won't want to, but it's the only way."

"What do you mean the only way? And what's the point of coming back from the dead if all you're going to do is stand around and make idle chitchat and cryptic remarks for five minutes?"

"You need to look inside yourself, Rumplestiltskin. I can't help you do that, but the others can. There's not much more I can say, but for what it's worth, choosing you as my successor was the best thing I've ever done. Don't ruin it…"

As suddenly as he had appeared, Zoso was gone. Rumplestiltskin was unsure what to make of the encounter. He wanted to dismiss it all as a bad dream or indigestion, but even in this land without magic he of all people knew that signs weren't to be dismissed. After a moment of reflection, Mr. Gold decided to doze in his wing-back chair rather than go to bed like a sane person. He had heard of interventions like this before - and whether it was real or just the creation of a lonely, drunken mind, he had no intention of being caught in his pajamas by the Ghost of Christmas Past.


	3. Chapter 3

Rumplestiltskin was awoken by a slight breeze blowing in his ear and the sound of quiet chirping. What surprised him most about the arrival of Jiminy Cricket was his own overall lack of surprise. Contrary to his many years of experience, he felt that the more absurd this thing became the more likely it was that he was dreaming. Allowing that logic to be his guide, Rumplestiltskin swatted the insect away and sipped at the contents of his chipped tea cup.

"Be off with you, Dr. Hopper. We have no need for counseling today."

He had expected the cricket to falter, much like Archie would have done. Instead the bug briskly replied, "Rumplestiltskin, you can't brush me off and you can't push me aside. We have much to see and I suggest we begin now."

"I don't think so, dearie. Now get out of my house or I'll limp into my kitchen and fetch the flyswatter."

"There's nothing you can do to hurt me, Rumplestiltskin. I'm not Archie; I'm not even Jiminy Cricket. I am an embodiment of Archie's compassion. The same compassion that compelled him to reach out to you today."

"Well, he can't be that compassionate if his ethereal spirit is only the size of a cricket," the Dark One quipped.

"If it were measured by size, Rumplestiltskin, yours would be the size of a speck. But there is too much to be done for us to waste time quarreling." Without further comment the spirit hopped onto Mr. Gold's shoulder.

0

Colors changed and paradigms shifted. The scene before Gold was both foreign and achingly familiar; he was glad that whatever magic had brought him there had allowed him to remain seated. If he were standing he would have fainted dead away. He and his favorite chair had been transported to the high meadows beyond his father's farm. A place that had been all but destroyed during the First Ogre War.

As Dr. Archie Hopper would tell you, the first stage of loss or shock is denial - Rumplestiltskin couldn't believe his eyes. The next stage is anger - in one deft motion, The Dark One captured his guide, pinching the cricket between his thumb and forefinger. "How did you find out about this place? What exactly do you know about it? About me?" The words hissed between his teeth like poisoned curses. Rumplestiltskin was afraid of his secrets being revealed; he had spent too many years building a legend to allow a mewling, measly insect to be his undoing. He had done far worse than murder to protect his dagger.

A voice answered Rumplestiltskin from the general direction of his shoulder. "You can't kill me. I'm spirit. I'm made from the immortal qualities of your acquaintance; I brought you here through the power of your own memories. If it makes you feel better, know that Archie will never remember this. I have absolutely no bearing in his conscious thought."

"You are sure?"

"I give you my word."

Rumplestiltskin could feel a scathing reply forming, but he was interrupted by a group of young boys. The urchins were dressed in rags with dripping noses; in spite of the numbing cold and biting wind they seemed to be enjoying rowdy ball game. Another boy limped twelve paces behind them- unable to catch up and unwilling to stop trying.

"Oh look, it's me," said Gold sardonically. "You see me, Cricket? I'm the little gimp trying to play ball with the kids that gave me the limp in the first place. What ARE we doing here?"

The spirit ignored Gold's sarcasm. "Your knee injury happened in your childhood?"

"No, the knee came later. That was from a minor trouncing. They ambushed me when I was taking Mama's thread to market."

"Why would they do that to you?"

"I expect you know the answer to that question already. Why don't you tell me?"

"Because you would feel better if you said it out loud. Tell me, why did the other boys in the village beat you up?"

"They thought I was weak. I never fought back. The first time it happened because I wouldn't join them in tormenting another boy. That runty one over there. He entered their ranks when they started bullying me. I've been branded a coward my whole life."

"Half a dozen against one isn't my idea of bravery."

"No, but _you_ weren't there." Rumplestiltskin decided to change his tactic. "Do you remember the time I sold you that potion? You know. The one that turned Gepetto's parents into puppets? What an adventure that was! Can we go home now?"

"You never forget the moments that change your life, Rumplestiltskin," said Jiminy. "That potion was a mistake, but I learned from it. I learned to put others first and to let my compassion lead me. It set me on a path I haven't deviated from since."

"The incident with the runt taught me a lesson too. Compassion leads to suffering, and putting others first will turn you into a pariah."

"We both know that's not true. You learned to look at yourself in a different way. You saw your bravery as cowardice."

Silence. Rumplestiltskin stared out at the group of boys playing ball and the smaller one lagging behind them - lame but determined, rejected but hopeful. He imagined he could feel the breeze that was cutting up his younger self; with a shudder, he crossed his arms for warmth.

"We're done here," he said.

0

The world once again spun out of control beneath the wing-back chair. When it stopped, Rumplestiltskin noticed he was setting in the draftiest corner of the cottage he shared with his wife. A younger version of himself was groaning on a straw bed.

Standing above him was Milah, Bae's mother. She was a beautiful but cold woman with little use for her baby son and even less for her husband. Mr. Gold felt himself flinch at the maelstrom he knew was coming. "She's about to tell me she's leaving," he said through numb lips, barely audible. "She can't let herself be tied to a deserter that didn't have the decency to die with the rest of the men in our village. She would rather I have been sent home in a coffin or splattered across a shield."

"And you remember this vividly?" asked Jiminy.

"In your words, it was a moment that changed my life. I came home with a wrecked knee. They hobbled me for trying to run, but I was ... lucky they did it. While I was laid up with fever, the brave knights led the men from my village on a raid and no one returned from the action." Rumplestiltskin thought for a moment, face pensive. "All I could think of was my son. She told me we were expecting before I was conscripted. I knew it would be a boy. I ran because I couldn't die before I got to see him."

Rumple's voice trailed off as the woman in front picked up a bundle from a rough-hewn cradle. She handed the baby to the man on the bed and calmly walked out of the cottage.

"I thought she was going to shout at you," said Jiminy.

"Weren't you paying attention? She just did - granted, she'll do it louder when she gets back from the pub."

"She's coming back?"

"Oh yes, Bae and I will live with her disappointment for another few years."

"And after that?"

His younger self whimpered from the pallet, the heels of his hands digging into sunken eyes. His face was worn and dirty, with dried blood streaked over his trouser legs. With a weak, painful sigh, the younger Rumplestiltskin looked down at his son with dampened eyes. He opened his mouth - to the little boy, he began to speak.

"We're done," said Mr. Gold.

0

The earth trembled and Rumple was sitting in another hovel, smaller and shabbier than the first. Before him was a spinning wheel and a tired-looking man working at it. Rumplestiltskin could barely stand the sight of his own careworn face. He stood for the first time since the start of the bizarre journey, lifting himself out of his chair. He circled the spinning wheel, lip curled in disgust.

"Would you look at him?" he asked. Jiminy looked with soft, sad eyes and saw a gentle father's face, weary but working nonetheless. Spirits could feel sorrow; observing two faces of the same man standing opposite each other, one mocking and derisive while the other doggedly worked on, Jiminy had never felt it more. "Just sitting there spinning away," said Gold, sneering. "Useless. Worthless. Never enough food on the table. Bae was always working to make up for his father's game leg. He would have been better off with his mother..."

"Your son loved you, Rumplestiltskin," said Jiminy. "No father could have done more to protect his child."

As if to illustrate the point Baelfire burst into the hovel. "Bae!" Rumplestiltskin was so taken by the sight of his son it took him a moment to register what the boy was saying. It was the day the Duke's men came for Morraine [spell-check says this is wrong, but it only says 'moraine' is right because a moraine is run-off from a glacier or something]. Mr. Gold collapsed into his seat.

"No," he said. "No. I can't stay here. I can't watch it again! I relive this day every day! We're done."

"Very well," said Jiminy.

0

Rumplestiltskin's chair was in its old place in the Dark Castle, tucked away in a quiet corner of the library. Belle's library. A soft voice beckoned to him from behind hazy memories; his heart gripped painfully in his chest. "I have a surprise for you." His hands grasped convulsively at the arms of his chair. It was the one she always favored. With Jiminy's eyes on him, he slowly rose and turned, transfixed by the blue eyes that were staring straight past him- locked onto the other man in the room.

Calling the impish figure hunched over a crumbling tome [a man] might have been an overstatement. "What's that, dearie?" the creature drawled. Gold stood where he was, frozen by the images before him. This wasn't a moment of sadness or tragedy, like the others had been. This was a memory of happy times; it ached inside him, mingling hurt and happiness in the cruelest way.

Belle all but danced across the room to join the creature. "I said I have a surprise for you."

"I doubt that, dearie. Not much surprises someone with my abilities." He tapped a clawed finger at his temple and gave her a knowing look. Belle giggled and leaned in conspiratorially.

"I don't believe that a bit," she said. "You don't have the sight. You just let people think you do."

Gold hovered over the couple in a state of awe and longing. The imp was giggling and clandestinely enjoying the scent of Belle's hair.

"When did you realize you loved her?" the cricket chirped quietly, his voice making the scene recede from Gold's eyes.

"Shhh," he replied.

Belle was leading Rumplestiltskin out into the corridor and Gold hobbled after them eagerly.

"What was the surprise?" asked Jiminy. In the hall -

"It's a log," said Rumplestiltskin blankly. Belle took his hand and led him closer to the Great Room's massive fireplace.

"It's not just any log," Belle began.

"It's a Yule log," Gold murmured, dazed and wet-eyed, his voice blending with hers.

"A what?" Rumplestiltskin exclaimed.

"Every year in my village we began the winter holidays by cutting down a tree. The clerics would bless the first log chopped from it and everyone would touch it and make a wish. If the log burned the wishes were bound to come true."

The Dark One smirked. "That's a charming custom. But tell me, dearie, was your wish last year to be imprisoned?"

Belle flushed and Mr. Gold could feel his own color rising. "Not exactly. I always wished that I could go on an adventure. And in a way I have." There was a heavy pause and Gold found himself inhaling the same breath as Belle before she asked, "What were the holiday traditions from your home?"

Rumplestiltskin giggled; the sound grated on Gold's nerves. He hated his old selves, each one of them - and to an extent, he hated- "Every year we sacrificed three unwilling virgins to the Swamp Beast," Rumplestiltskin said. "The girls always came back relatively unharmed, but complaining about leeches."

Belle tried to look properly shocked but chuckled instead. "Someday, I'll wring the truth from you," she said.

"Not likely dearie."

Jiminy Cricket flew in front of Mr. Gold's view. The man blinked, eyes glazed.

"It's time to go, Rumplestiltskin," Jiminy said. Mr. Gold shook his head.

"I'm not ready." He crouched down next to Belle, not caring about his knee for once. The girl was feeding the log to the fire. "We never celebrated anything in our village. Especially winter. We were right on the borders of the Ogre territory. Food was scarce and the moors would get so cold..." he said.

The floor dropped from beneath Gold - the sky swallowed Belle and the ground swallowed him - and in the next second, feeling all too well the ache of something lost, he was back in his Victorian sitting room.


	4. Chapter 4

**-So this chapter is a little short because I'm splitting up a really long one. I'm sorry for the delay and I hope you enjoy. Hugs and love to all the dearies that have read my fic and the ones that commented.**

"Take me back!" Gold bellowed. "Cricket! Cricket? Please." He stood up unsteadily and was rewarded with waves of nausea and vertigo. He barely made it to the bathroom before he lost the contents of his stomach. When he finished retching he closed his eyes and pretended what had just transpired was a dream or alcohol poisoning. Anything.

A female hand patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Feeling better?"

"Belle?" he breathed grasping the hand tightly.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Rumplestiltskin. But it's time to stop looking backward. Let's focus on the here and now."

"Ruby?" he asked eying her cloak. "Or are you going by Red now?"

"Neither really. I'm aspects of Ruby's personality. I'm The Spirit of Christmas Present."

"And I'm Mufassa of Pride Rock." Gold muttered.

"You are feeling better! Now I want you to brush your teeth and wash your face. I'll make you a little breakfast."

"Aren't you supposed to be going on about having much to observe and all that?"

"I'm the Spirit of Christmas Present and it's like 6 a.m. there isn't much to see at this point, so clean up."

0

Mr. Gold wasn't up to braving the stairs for a fresh suit, but he felt more himself after a bit of grooming. He was pretty sure what he had endured with the cricket qualified as mental and emotional torture and he had no intention of suffering Little Red Riding Hood's quest or company.

As he opened his kitchen door Rumplestiltskin's resolve was firmly in place. As he walked inside his resolved dropped to the floor with his stomach. The smells were oppressive and overwhelming. Bacon, eggs, sausages, and every other breakfast food known to man. "Rumplestiltskin, you're looking a little green. Sip on this"

"What is it?"

"The milk of human kindness," Red replied dead pan.

Gold shot her a look. "It's Granny's special egg nog. Think of it as hair from the wolf that bit you."

He took a reluctant sip and proclaimed it to be "not bad." Instantly the turmoil in his stomach vanished and some of the pain in his leg eased. Red ushered him to a seat at his kitchen table and sat a plate of Mickey Mouse pancakes in front of him.

"It's rude to stare." Red reminded him as she picked up the tea pot. "You do prefer tea to coffee, right?"

"I'd rather you not touch that cup, dearie." The Dark One growled.

"Those hot cakes won't stay hot forever; and you can wipe that look off your face. You aren't the only person in the world to have loved and lost."

Gold bit back the remark he could have made about how Red devoured her true love while in wolf form. He was all too familiar with the pain of destroying what he should have cherished. Instead he did as he was told and focused on his plate. "I don't usually eat breakfast."

"And that's why you're as skinny as a rail. You know, we still have some time to kill. Why don't you tell me about Belle?"

"Because it's none of your business." Gold snapped.

" I already know the basics, but I don't understand a couple things. Like, when you became the Dark One you ended the Ogre Wars. Right? So what were the ogres doing attacking Maurice's land?"

"Well, I find that ogres are like dandelions. Whenever you think you've obliterated them all a few decades pass and another bunch pops up. I would have mown them down even if there hadn't been a profit involved."

"So why did you bargain for Belle?"

"These pancakes are lovely, dearie. And with such amusing shapes."

"You know you want to answer me."

"What is it about you insufferable spirits that makes you want to dig into my past. Can't we just leave it at, 'You're a very bad man, Rumplestiltskin. You're going to burn and if you don't do such and such we'll burn with you.' At this point I would do just about anything to be left in peace."

"You can't change unless you've learned the lesson."

"And what lesson would that be? The only thing I learned from strolling down memory lane with the insect was that I've lived a life fraught with cowardice and tragedy. Then I discovered magic and destroyed the only ones I've ever loved. The end."

"I shouldn't have to spell this out for you, but you clearly missed the point. You were a good man and you managed to find love after you had been irreversibly touched by evil. You were supposed to realize that you need to foster that goodness inside you instead of wasting your time hating yourself."

"Pretty astute observation for a waitress."

"You learn a lot about people in Ruby's line of work. You get to see the way people interact with each other; you see what kind of manners they were brought up with. There's a lot to be learned about the study of human nature over food."

"You learn more about it in my business. True colors come out when people get desperate."

"Like Henry?"

"He has more character than most."

"You have no idea. But you will. Grab your coat Gold; we're taking a little trip."


End file.
